The Book
by Skylar Storm
Summary: If I could only have changed two things when I was born, then maybe I would have been normal… or at least as normal as someone like me can be.


**This is a different point of view of my friend's (Nacho the Greato) story, also called The Book. Read her's too, it's really good. **

**Anyway, I hope you like it.  
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><p><em>Sometimes I wish I could forget everything from my past, or maybe just start over completely. If I could only have changed two things when I was born, then maybe I would have been normal… or at least as normal as someone like me can be. If I were born at a different hospital, that might have helped, and if I didn't fall straight through my mother's arms the first time she held me. That definitely would have helped.<em>

_It was because of those two things that I have the past that I do, and the scars that go with it, both physical and emotional. It was because of those two things that I grew up in a tiny, white padded room inside a mental hospital. But I'm getting ahead of myself; let me start at the beginning, right after the doctors handed me over to my mother._

"Sweetie, she's beautiful," my mother said softly, cradling me in her arms.

"Have you decided on a name for her?" my father asked, his eyes locked on my mother and me.

"Yes. Her name is Meghan." She said. She tried to hold me closer to her when I fell through her arms and onto the bed.

"Oh my goodness!" my mother exclaimed, not quite realizing what happened and she quickly convinced herself that I just slipped. She reached for me to pick me up, but her fingers passed through me, like I wasn't even there.

"Aghhhhhhh!" she screamed, scooting as far away from me as possible.

"Get that freak away from me!" she shouted. A doctor that she had never seen before picked me up and carried me away. I never saw my parents again.

I was brought to a large building called The Hospital for the Mentally Disabled. The outside of the building was brick with ivy going up the walls, but on the inside, there was nothing but white.

The first thing that happened when I got there was that they took a blood sample. Then I was put in a white room that at the time seemed pretty big. For the first year of my life, the worst thing that happened was them taking a blood sample. The doctors cared for me, played with me, did everything they could to keep me healthy.

I learned to walk at an earlier age then most children, and the doctors found that very interesting. They would put me on a treadmill and have me walk at a steady pace, and when I got too tired they would first write down how long I was walking, then give me a snack and let me play for the rest of the day.

I had no idea that I was different until I was four, and that was when things started to really suck. My favorite doctor, Daisy, had walked into my room holding a birthday cake with four candles on top. I laughed and clapped my hands together as she set it down on the ground so I could blow out the candles. I crawled up to the cake and she told me to make a wish, but I had nothing to wish for. I was happy, I had people who played with me, feed me, cared for me. They were my family. So I wished everything would stay the same. I blew out the candles easily and smiled up at Daisy, but my happiness quickly turned to horror at what happened next.

Daisy's face fell, and then paled. She collapsed face first with the handle of a knife in her back. I looked up to see a woman with black hair and cold gray eyes giving me a sick smile before saying, "I am the new Director for this branch of the Hospital for the Mentally Disabled. I think it's about time we get some new staff."

She roughly grabbed my arm and dragged me out of my room.

"What's going on?" I said, then screamed, "What's happening?"

"Shut up, girl," she replied, squeezing my arm tighter, her nails digging into my skin. She dragged me inside the break room, my favorite room because it was painted dark colors; the only room that wasn't white.

A lot of the doctors were in there eating lunch. They all looked up in surprise to see the new Director and me, but they did not notice the other people walk into the room from the back door. The new Director held me down and made me watch as every single doctor, the people I've come to know as my family, was slaughtered. I screamed and cried, feeling more rage and fear then a four-year-old ever should. Even though we were inside, wind blew angrily and lights exploded, showering the room with broken glass. My family was dead. Everyone I ever knew was dead. I was furious, scared, and sad all at the same time. I took a deep breath and got my emotions under control, not wanting to give the new Director the satisfaction of seeing my tears.

She started to pull me out of the room and she called to the murderers, "Get the equipment ready, I want all of the preliminary tests done by the end of the day." She dragged me back to my room and slammed the doors shut. Daisy's body had been removed and the room smelled strongly of bleach. I sat in the corner of the room and cried.

About a half hour later, the door opened and a person I had never seen before walked in, grabbed my arm, and lead me down the hall. We arrived at the room that had the treadmill in it, but when he opened the door, what I saw terrified me. There were big tubs full of water and others full of some greenish liquid that I later found out was acid. A whole corner of the room was dedicated to syringes filled with toxic chemicals. There was a treadmill, but the track was super-heated so if you stopped running, it would burn your feet.

The simplest thing in that room was a box. It was three feet by three feet with nails covering the inside of it. The box was not used for tests, but for punishment. The doctors would force kids inside of it and leave them in there for however long the doctors felt necessary. If the kid moved an inch in any direction, she would get hurt. And if the doctors thought the kid deserved it, they would kick the box around with the kid inside. It was almost impossible to come out of the box unscathed.

They dragged me to the corner with all of the chemicals. A syringe plunged into my arm, and a reddish liquid drained into my bloodstream. It burned. I screamed and tried to run away, but the doctors held me down. The burning got worse and it spread throughout my entire body. My vision faded into blackness, but I was still very conscious of the pain. I was vaguely aware that I was still screaming, but I didn't care; I just wanted the pain to stop. It did, very suddenly. I got my sight back and realized that they injected another chemical into my arm.

They wrote down a few things before pulling me to a large tank of water. I was still a bit weak from the chemicals so I didn't put up much of a fight when they strapped me to a board and dropped me into the water. As soon as I was completely submerged I started to panic. I struggled against the Velcro straps that held me down, but my brain was getting progressively fuzzier and my lungs were aching for air. Somewhere after what had to be forever I passed out.

I won't bore you with the details of the next year and a half, but it went very similar to that day , except maybe worse. I'll skip ahead to a more exciting day at the Mental Hospital.

All of the doctors were running around, preparing for the arrival of two new "patients". I watched everything from a small, glass, barred window in my room. By this time I had taught myself to control my powers over air and electricity. The doctors didn't know about the electricity, so they kept me in a room with an electronically locked door. I waited until they were gathered at the back entrance to put my plan to action. I put my hand on the door and sent a pulse of electricity through where the lock was. Three clicks and a hinge squeak later, I was running down the hallway towards the side exit.

Again, I will save you from the boring details of me running down two hallways, jumping at every sound. There were very few guards around and the ones that were, were the most incompetent guards that have ever guarded anything.

I ran passed one just before I went out the door, but it wasn't until after I was already outside the building that I heard him say, "Wait, you're not supposed to be out of your room! Come back here!" I think he said some stuff after that, but I was too far away to hear him.

I ran. I ran and I didn't stop until felt like I was going to pass out. I found myself on a sidewalk in the middle of a street full of small shops and apartments. In an attempt to catch my breath, I walked over to a bench and sat down. The lack of movement caused exhaustion to sweep over me. I decided to close my eyes for a bit while I was already sitting down.

What felt like seconds later, I was being awoken by a woman who was holding the hand of a young girl. She looked at me with concern as she asked, "Do you know where your parents are?"

Me, being the clever, and rather hungry, child I was, blinked my eyes really hard to get them to tear up and said, "No. They told me they would meet me back here, but they never came back." My crackly, under-used voice was the perfect addition to my charade. I decided sniffle a bit and look down, hoping that my plan would work.

"Oh, Dear! Do you know your parents' phone number?" the woman asked. I shook my head and sniffled again. She hesitated slightly before saying, "Your coming with us for tonight then tomorrow we can go to the police station to find your parents." I nodded in a sad way and sniffled just one more time for good measure before standing up and taking the woman's offered hand.

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><p><strong>Please review. Also, tell me what you want to happen next. Thanks bunches!<strong>

**-Angela**


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